The Bonnet, the Plaid, the Kilt and the Feather
by thepalehorsevictoria
Summary: Helen Hawke married Sebastian Vael. Here, the wedding and the wedding night in all its glorious detail.
1. Chapter 1

_**Here's tae the heath, the hill and the heather,**_  
><em><strong>The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather.<strong>_

Hawke smiled, but sighed through her teeth. "I don't see why I need _more_ sheets. The ones I have are just fine." She stifled a yawn and wondered whose idea it was to hold this party so early in the morning, right after the Chantry's first services. But the showing of presents was a Starkhaven tradition, and she wanted to do things right by him.

Isabella was eyeing a young man across the room who was sitting patiently by his mother. "Oh, hush, kitten. You'll have a husband. And the things you'll be doing with your husband can get _awfully_ dirty. Clean sheets are a _necessity_, my dear." She stirred the chunks of fruit in her chilled wine with her finger and closed her eyes as she suggestively licked her finger clean. The redheaded man gave her his full and undivided attention, and the pirate purred with delight.

A strong contralto voice chimed up behind them. "I should have given more thought into my present," the Guard Captain lamented. "If I had known that these were going to be presented in the traditional sense, I'd have done something more than armor polish." Aveline shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. But Helen was actually very grateful for her oldest friend's gift - it was a beautifully practical thing that both she and her betrothed would use well.

"What she _should_ be doing, big girl, is polishing _him_ off. Every night. In fine Orlesian silk sheets." Helen stifled a chuckle and slowly shook her head in amusement. She shouldn't have been surprised at how furious the pirate got when Sebastian proposed.

_"You mean the world to me, Hawke. I couldn't have gotten through this time without you. Join me in the Chantry. Pledge yourself to the Maker! We can serve Him together with a chase marriage in His eyes."_

_His words hummed in her ears and her heart. "I would gladly swear my vows beside you." _

_"I'll speak to Her Grace about accepting you as a sister in faith. She'll recognize the purity of our love. I swear to you, nothing shall come between us."_

_"And that's the problem, isn't it? No one will _come._ That's about as sad as it gets." Helen had never heard Isabella so angry._

It took a long time for the two to even tolerate being in the same room together. And it took a very long time for Sebastian to acquiesce, and for a while Helen was ready to rip her hair out and scream in frustration. She cringed at the memory and shook her head again, remembering the arguments. There were a few times that she was so sure he would storm out and never return.

But there he was, on the other side of the large hall in her-their-estate. She thought that Sebastian would feel a little tense for being out of his armor, but the soft tunic he wore showed his strong shoulders in a relaxed slope as he smiled to himself, running his fingers through the furs of a gifted blanket. Shimmers of gold from the fire danced in his blue eyes as he looked up at her, and his smile widened, and Helen couldn't resist a shiver that sent the long braid of her black hair twirling.

In just a few days, all the years of waiting would come to an end.

* * *

><p>Sebastian could kick himself every morning for the rest of his life. How could he have even dared to think that he could spend his days next to Hawke and never run his hands through her impossibly long hair, never kiss her?<p>

When he looked up from the thick winter blankets and caught her gaze, he could feel his breath catch in his throat and the slow burn in his heart fan to a strong blaze. Once he finally accepted that it would always be there every time she so much as looked at him, Sebastian felt a world of torment lift from his shoulders.

_Her dark hair would fan out behind her as he laid her down amongst the furs in front of the fire. She would be softer still, Helen's pale skin would burn him like the hottest flames as he touched her, kissed her, held her fast. He'd try to quench his thirst in her everburning heat and gladly die in the flames. 'An unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied.'_

A strong clap onto his shoulder broke his reverie, and a dark hand absent of its usual clawed gauntlet offered him a cup of wine. Sebastian took it happily and drained it, letting the chilled drink and fruit cool him down. The elf quickly took the cup back and offered him another, but he decided to sip this one. He leaned against the wall and watched the string of nobles flutter around the tables. These were old friends of her mother, Helen had told him, and most of them were unbearably superficial. As much as she disliked the idea of hosting them, she endured, and he admired her for her polite manners even though none of them remembered Leandra until Helen returned from the Deep Roads with a sack full of sovereigns.

"I'm glad you came, Fenris. It's good to see a friendly face."

He could feel the elf's eyebrows furrow. "Is Hawke not enough?"

"No, is not what I meant." Sebastian noted that the nobles steered clear away from a table in the corner that hosted the quivers of arrows and a replica of the famed Starfang that the Hero of Ferelden had wielded. "With all these . . . people here, I'm sure I can speak for the both of us when I say that we're glad to see our friends here as well." A jolt of apprehension lifted Sebastian's back upright when he saw Anders come in.

Fenris grunted shortly in understanding. He must have also seen the mage. Together, they watched him slink through the room towards the other side and carefully place a bundle on a table before he straightened himself up and made his way towards Helen.

Sebastian had to remind himself that she still considered him a very close friend and that for all that he was, Anders was an exceptional healer that saved his life on quite a few occasions. And for all his protests, he was still a Gray Warden of incredible skill and power.

And on the day he proposed, after the Rivaini pirate exploded in the Chantry, Anders had been the voice of reason, much to his surprise.

_They were in the Hanged Man. Sebastian kindly accepted Varric's offer of wine, and kept watering it down at the table, his eyes fixated on the cup. She was going to talk her out of it, that blighted pirate. He closed his eyes and prayed for Helen. "Guide her through the blackest nights, steel her heart against the temptations of the wicked-"_

_"Wouldn't that make you her warmest place? I thought she would be . . . wait, I don't want to know." Sebastian flinched at the sound of the abomination completing his sentences. Any Transfigurations from him sounded like blasphemy, especially with his wry grin._

_"Our love is pure and will serve the Maker, Anders, not some dark passioned breath that that harlot pursues with a different man each night. I just don't want her to sully Hawke." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Varric slowly reach for a quill._

_Anders sat down at the table and leaned forward, serious but eerily calm. "Helen _is_ passion, Sebastian. There's a fire in her eyes when she fights for what she believes in. Just don't . . . don't quelch that. 'As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light.' That's in your own blighted words."_

_And he was right. For all her grace and poise, Helen Hawke was an everlasting flame, always moving and always burning, the braid of her hair whipping around her as she charged into battle. And he would be lying to himself and the Maker and His Bride if he said he didn't hold that same passion himself, long ago._

_"Just . . . if you do love her, love her for all she is. Love her completely. Fire and all. It's torture otherwise." Anders got up and left for Darktown, and Sebastian stared intently into his watered wine for a moment._

_Varric had told him once that many years ago, Helen found herself drawn to the mage, but he had pushed her away for fear of hurting her. Sebastian was sure that Anders still cared for her and that was why he was being so protective._

_He remembered how she looked when her mother died. After Leandra's cremation, Sebastian offered her his arm to walk her home, and her gray eyes were lifeless, much like Meredith's Tranquil assistant Elsa, and he shuddered at the memory._

_And so he decided that he would do his best to keep that fire alive. He would still serve the Maker and sing his praises, but he would also worship one of His finest creations as his wife and keep her fire burning bright._

Sebastian watched Anders bid her goodnight, embracing her tightly with one arm while the other held a large sack of bandages and potions she must have given him for his clinic. Helen smiled at something he told her, close to her ear, but it was nothing compared to the smile she gave her betrothed as she caught his gaze.

_She was not smiling now. Her eyes were squinted shut in concentration, and sweat beaded her brow as she tensed, moaning nonsense. The air around her felt heavy and stale. Her lamentations fell on deaf ears and he would not relent for all her pleas, he was drunk on the power he held over her. __She was sharp and tangy and drenched in sweat and arousal and he could not get enough of her, his tongue continuing to thrash against her sex as he sought out the fires within her to quench his own. Finally, she arched her back and thrust her breasts up in a heartfelt prayer, and she sang to his approval._

Just a few more days.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks after the marriage bann was announced at the Chantry, the sun had barely rose for an hour and Helen was already exhausted. Eager, but exhausted.

Sandal had helped himself to the bacon in the kitchen at breakfast and innocently wiped his hands on the cloak she was to wear to the Chantry, and Homer had rolled around in the pale blue fabric, happy as a nug in mud.

At first Helen wanted to scream, but then Merrill threatened to wrap her in vines if she didn't sit still long enough for her to finish working on her hair, and Isabella ran a soothing hand over her back as she sipped at a cup of wine and tore at the wax of the letter from Amaranthine.

It wrenched at the warrior's heart to see the griffon emblem, remembering that she had sealed Bethany's fate those years ago and in doing so robbed herself of the best friend she ever had.

_My dearest sister -_

_Please don't cry. I can't bear it when you cry and the only tears you should ever shed on your wedding day should be tears of joy. I know you still beat yourself up over what happened, but as sure as I love you, be sure that this was . . . for the best. Anders had taught quite a few amazing things before he left, and they've been put to good use, and if only Father could see my spells now . . . And if not for the expedition, if not for that fateful decision, I would not have joined the Gray Wardens, and I would not have met Nathaniel. And, dear sister, I am happy. As you should be._

_I'm so sorry I cannot be there beside you, but I know that you're marrying an incredible man, and as you deem him worthy of your love and devotion, than I shall trust him with your life and happiness._

_And I will be there in a fortnight, Maker willing, to threaten him myself with the wrath of a Warden Mage should any harm ever come to you under his care._

_Laugh. You're supposed to laugh at that. Laugh! It's your wedding day. And I love you._

_Bethany_

Whether Helen's tears came from the letter or from Merrill's deft fingers braiding her yards of hair, she couldn't right tell - she was too busy fingering the present of the bright blue and white handkerchief that came with the letter from her sister.

"Hawke, there's a mob of angry men in short skirts in front of your door."

"What?"

The dwarf couldn't resist the look he knew she'd give him. "Your prince and his men have arrived. Not angry, just spirited. You'll tune out the pipes, eventually." Varric took her hands and smiled. "You're a beauty that words could never do justice, Hawke." Helen had to wonder if he'd still call her that. "It's time."

Once Merrill was satisfied with her handiwork and checked that the wreath of flowers in her hair was good and secure, the bride rustled to her feet and tried hard not to run down the stairs to greet her groom.

". . . Maker _bless_ the land of Starkhaven."

She could pick Sebastian out of any crowd, even if he was surrounded by pipers and well-wishers. His tanned skin was swathed in a crisp white shirt and dark wool waistcoat, but the kilt in the Vael _sett_ entranced Helen with the sight of his knees and the glimpse of his thighs as he turned around to see her. She had never seen any part of him other than his neck, face and hands, and the sight of that new bronzed flesh made her gasp.

And his blue eyes shined like the gleaming silver kilt pin and the family crest on the _sgian dubh_ nestled in a thick sock - the same crest that encircled the _luckenbooth_ brooch that he was turning over and over in his hands.

Helen could not resist running to him and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, feeling the low chuckle in his throat and breathing in the smell of his soap and the sprig of white heather tucked into his waistcoat to match the ones in her hair.

_This was going to be a joyous day_, she thought, and she couldn't hear the pipers start their rousing chorus over the beat of Sebastian's heart in her ear.

* * *

><p>Standing at the doors of the Chantry with his bride beside him, Sebastian Vael kept circling a finger around one of the hearts in the brooch that now hanged from a silverite chain around her wrist. The last time he had seen it, it was pinned on the blanket of his brother's first son, and the sting of sadness brought his attentions off of the past and towards the beautiful woman glowing next to him.<p>

The woman who refused to let go of his hand for even a second as they made their way to the Chantry, wrapped in incredible lengths of steel gray silk that matched her eyes so perfectly. The woman with such soft, pale skin that pebbled when he ran his fingers against her, draping his family tartan around her shoulders.

_The dress was almost too pretty to leave on the floor. Perhaps he'd risk drowning in the sea of the fabric and hike her skirts up before he took her. There was so much silk, would anyone notice if he knelt before her and dove under her folds to press his tongue against her folds?_

Sebastian nearly shouted his profession of love, proclaiming to the Maker, to their friends, to the city, and to Thedas his promise to love her forever, but nothing prepared him for Helen's soft hands running up under his fly plaid and drawing him close as she smiled and almost whispered her vows to him. Her warm breath on his ear raised the hair on his neck, and Sebastian could barely stand the _friction_ and the _sight_ of his finger being coaxed through the wide silver wedding band without a small groan. Thankfully, only Helen seemed to hear it, and the smallest wicked smile came upon her, and she knew.

_She'd be much smoother below when he'd finally enter her._

And then, she was his wife, and he was her husband, and he could not wait a moment longer to wrap his arms around her and bend his head down to kiss her.

* * *

><p>Helen knew it was a bad idea to kiss her husband. It made sitting through the Chantry service that followed unbearable, and all she could think of when Sebastian's voice rose above the others in the hymn was<em> how he would sound moaning into her ear as he came inside her. Would he shout her name, or the Maker's? Would it be blasphemy?<em> She worked hard to stifle her chuckle and looked to her friends in the pew behind them, knowing that if not for them, this would not have happened.

_"I've been thinking about what Isabella said."_

_"You have? And did you go to confession immediately afterwards?" she teased. She tried to keep the same wide smile whenever she did so, so he could know she meant it in loving jest._

_He blushed and looked down to busy his fingers with a seam in his gloves. "Well, and what Anders said."_

_"_Anders_ talked to you." It was hard to believe. When they did speak to each other, it was either long and loud in shouts and yells, or short insults._

_"Aye." He still didn't look up. "He said that to deny you from the passion that fuels you would probably be the worst thing I could ever do to you."_

_Hawke felt a little embarrassed and searched the room for something else to focus on. Anders, who declined her affections years ago, giving advice to her betrothed. She became interested in a slim notebook that Isabella often used to scribble limericks and did not hear Sebastian cross the library to come up behind her, and she startled when he touched her shoulders and turned her around to face his cerulean eyes._

_"I love you, Helen. I," he pressed his forehead to hers as he searched for the words. "I pledged to take no bride save Andraste, and then I fell in love with you. It was wrong of me to think that I could take a second wife, it was so selfish of me and a terrible thing to ask of you."_

_Hawke shuddered with a deep breath as she tried to keep her heart in her chest. She could feel a part of her begin to wither as she feared he was going to confirm the celibate marriage. How could she have said yes so quickly on the stupid hope that he'd come to his senses and take her?_

_But then Sebastian moved away from her, and knelt down on the floor. "And so, Helen Hawke, I swear to you that I will love you as every Starkhaven Vael before me has loved his bride, completely and forever, and I will forswear my vow of chastity."_

_"What? But, Sebastian, your vows have meant so much to you."_

_"I still serve the Maker and praise His name, Helen. But I cannot dream of life without you by my side. Such strong fire burns inside you, and I shall embrace that light. Marry me, mo chridhe?"_

_"You have to ask me twice?" She smiled widely again._

But Anders was nowhere to be found now - he didn't even come to see them off in the morning. Helen guessed he was probably hunched over his desk and writing again, and her heart ached at remembering him so pale and gaunt in his fervor. But she could not help but be grateful for whatever he said to Sebastian, and she made a note to call on him and thank him when she saw her husband's bright blue eyes smile at her.

_Would he watch her when she took his cock into her mouth and wrap her lips around him, or would his eyelids flutter before his head fell back?_

Sebastian knew she was lost in thought when he stole another glance at her. She was pretending to study the pattern in his kilt, but there was a faraway look in her eyes. If she wasn't slowly biting her lower lip, he would have been worried, but he had seen that expression before. And he was glad to see it.

_He wanted to see her gnaw on it, and then steal that lip from her and run his tongue over it before he started a trail of kisses, licks and nibbles down her chin and up along her jaw, only to run down her neck and across her ample chest, teasing her along the neckline of her dress._

He couldn't resist giving her a stern look when she finally shook herself back to the sermon, but he couldn't keep it for long before breaking into a smile. And when the mass ended, he almost jumped to his feet to scoop her up into his arms to carry her out. Her yelp echoed into the chantry's stone halls before turning into a giggle that she buried into his chest and the heather in her hair tickled at his neck.

Her skirts were impossible, but at least he could feel her thighs underneath them.

Their friends were the first to greet them, and Sebastian could barely make out their words over the pipers. There would be time for that later. He was sure he was going to get a lot of friendly and lewd jibes amidst all the congratulations later, and he would happily accept them with good manners for a time. But holding his bride in his arms and finally being able to feel her soft skin and her lips and wanting to feel more started to nibble at him. When he set her down on the stairs Helen drew him closer to kiss him again - drawing many cheers from the well-wishers - and he felt his patience start to fray.

_Her braids were lovely, but a nuisance. He had never seen her hair free and loose, and now he wanted to see the raven black locks spill down her bare back down to her thighs as she stood naked before him, and he would be the only one to see her and run his hands along her sides, her shoulders, her breasts, her backside, and her sex._

Sebastian thought about the coins stashed in his sporran and flinging them to the crowd below for a scramble, but before he could reach for the purse around his waist Helen's arms around him tightened and pulled him down the stairs and into Hightown, heading back to the estate.

"Come now, husband, there's a roast waiting to be carved and wine to be poured."

Chuckling, he leaned down and let his lips graze against her ear as he replied. "Oh, sweetling. I'll _come_, but not until you have. _Twice_." He nipped at her earlobe and moved way to relish in the sight of his bride blushing.


	3. Chapter 3

"You know what they say, don't you, kitten?"

"Oh, dear. Here comes all the marital advice I didn't ask for." Helen smiled and leaned in towards the pirate. At least whatever she had to say would certainly be more entertaining and more honest than all the other well-wishers, and she was grateful that the guests were starting to thin out so she could truly sit back and enjoy her wedding feast with her friends. "What do they say?"

"There's nothing under the kilt."

"Excuse me?"

Isabella nuzzled her cheek as she whispered. "The saying goes, 'What's worn under the kilt? Nothing, everything's in good working order.' I think it's time you went and made sure your prince is up to the task of keeping traditions going, dove." Helen had to giggle. "Go on, then, I'll get Varric to tell the story of how you met. That'll give you plenty of time." The Rivaini got up and made it over to the dwarf, and Varric's eyes widened as she whispered her plan into his ear. Helen slinked across the room to her husband, her ears tinged pink with excitement.

"In honor of this fine occasion, let me regale you with the story of how this love began."

"Maker, what is Varric doing?" Sebastian took another sip of wine from his goblet. "Is this such a good idea?"

"Don't worry, love. It'll be a fun time, and a _long_ story." She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled as she looked at him, hoping that he'd pick up on her hint.

Sebastian had no problems understanding her. He drained his wine and set the goblet down on a nearby table and firmly returned her embrace, and started rocking her in a slow, soft sway, moving them to a song that no one else could hear. He slowly led her to the door to the library, grateful for Varric's sensational storytelling and commanding presence distracting the crowd away from them.

No sooner did Helen close the door behind them did he pull her lips up to meet his and kiss her feverishly, moaning in relief. One of his hands reached up to pull the heather out of her hair while the other gripped her tightly around her waist, and he pressed her towards the wall. She sighed into his mouth, and he ran his tongue along her lips seconds before he delved into her mouth, tasting the wine and honeyed cake on her tongue.

"At long last, Helen, you are mine."

She was warm, even warmer than he thought, and he felt like he would melt if he was pressed against her for too long, but he was so intoxicated by her that he didn't want to leave, ever. When he did break the kiss to gasp for air Helen was running her fingers along the other flap of his kilt, snaking her hand into the crossover between the waist buckles, feeling for the other hem, and her fingers were so close to his hardening pride that Sebastian paused to relish in the feeling.

"There really isn't anything underneath, is there?" Her chuckle was warm and low and it felt like a purr against his lips as he kissed her again.

"Just me, wife. And," he groaned, his knees almost buckling at the sensation of her soft fingers finding him, wrapping around him, "and you have all of me." Sebastian kissed the spot right on her neck right below her earlobe and breathed deeply to savor the smell of heather. He started to slowly thrust into the ring of her fingers, but he wanted more. In between small licks of her sweet skin, he murmured, "Take out the pin, wife, and I am yours."

"Ha. I thought you were mine once we were at the Chantry steps." She let him go and grabbed the bottom hem of the kilt, removed the stick pin that held the flap in place and tucked the silver piece into his _sporran_ before she went back for him.

"Nay, sweetling, I was yours the moment we met." He went back to her soft, warm lips for another long kiss before bending at the waist to trace the low round neckline of her dress with his mouth, nibbling on her exposed shoulders and exploring the dip in her clavicle with his tongue. "I was just too stubborn to admit it." He groaned when Helen sought to just tease his cock with the occasional stroke and light caresses. He _needed more_. Sebastian wrenched himself away from the warmth of his bride's hands and knelt down to reach under her dress, snaking his hands up her calves and thighs and hooking his thumbs at the sides of her smallclothes. He had to resist the urge to tear them off of her, and relished in her soft skin as he gently pulled them down to her ankles and helped her step out of them. Helen's legs seemed to go on forever and he was glad to hear her sigh at his touch.

He reached back up to brush his fingers against her curls, and Helen's sigh collapsed into a gasp at the feeling of his calloused fingertips caressing her sex. Just as her knees started to buckle, Sebastian stood back up to pin her against the wall with his hips right as he slid a finger into her, feeling her wet and hearing her whimper. The strongest and most beautiful woman he ever met, the woman who was now his wife, an incredible force of nature, now quivering in front of him at his slightest touch.

His _wife_.

Sebastian pulled his fingers away from her wetness, and her gray eyes looked at him in confusion.

"Love, perhaps we should wait."

Helen balked in frustration and disbelief. "You're joking. You. Are joking."

Her chest was still heaving and it drove her husband mad, his erection still strong and yearning for her touch again. But he couldn't. "This is too fast." Helen stomped her foot and tried to interrupt, but he kept on before she could utter a word. "We're married, love. Our union should be consummated in our bed with all the time in the world, not against the wall behind the closed door at our feast like some ill-fated tryst."

She groaned and buried her face in her hand. She knew he was right - but she had ached for him for years and didn't want to wait a moment longer. She took a deep breath, and shook her with a small smile. "You'll pay for this, Vael." She hadn't called him by his family name for a while, not since she was livid from losing to him in a spar. But she was still smiling.

Sebastian sighed and bent down to kiss her in apology. "I'm so sorry, love. But I would do right by you. Just a while longer and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

"I'm sure you will, husband. I'll keep a ledger," Helen smiled and smoothed down her skirts before she opened the door and returned to the table. Sebastian thumped his head lightly against the wall and focused on clearing his head, willing himself to calm down so his arousal would fall to a simmer.

But once he finally regained his composure and looked down to see the discarded wreath of heather and her white silk smalls tangled in it on the floor, he lost it all over again.

Varric was on the last strands of his storyweaving when Sebastian made it back to the main room and took the chair next to his wife, who was leaning back and oddly relaxed as she sipped at a goblet of wine. But from the calm expression on her face and Isabella's scowl, Sebastian knew he had to win her back. He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckle, her palm and her wrist before cradling his face with it, and it won him her attention. There was a small glint in her eyes and a small smirk starting on one side of her mouth that brinked on mischevious, but then she took back her hand and turned to join the remaining guests in applauding the dwarven storyteller. Aveline stood up, blaming an early work day for her departure, gently tugging at Donnic's sleeve and hinting for him to do the same.

"Oh, do stay for one more," Helen cooed. "Varric, tell the one with the proposal." Sebastian looked at her in quiet disbelief. She never asked for his embellished stories, and he thought they both wanted their guests gone sooner rather than later. Helen's gray eyes flickered over to him for a split second before focusing on Fenris. "Is there any more wine?"

The elf found a few bottles that were half full and refilled her proffered goblet, and Sebastian found himself wish everyone gone. But Varric always answered calls for a story, and started spinning almost immediately, and so the frustrated groom took a long pull of his wine and slumped back into his chair, impatiently bouncing his right leg under the tablecloth.

When he felt his bride's fingertips grazing his kneecap, however, he stopped bouncing.

Sebastian shot a look at her, but she would not match his gaze, focusing instead on the almost completely fictional story and smiling. But under the table her hand unwrapped him from under his kilt and crept higher, lazily tracing a line up his bare thigh. The higher it went, the more feverish he got, and when she wrapped her fingers around him again, he bit his tongue to stifle a whimper and stared into his goblet, resisting the urge to jump to his feet and throw her onto the table and tear her skirts apart.

Helen tightened her grip as Varric finally placed his protagonists in the Chantry. Sebastian could have reached out and grabbed Varric by the hair to twist his neck so he could stop waxing poetic on the flicker of the candles and the sun gleaming through stained glass to play on the white of his armor. This story was taking far too long and Sebastian found himself waiting for an appropriate pause to stop the madness and send everyone home, but there was no stopping the storyteller.

He twisted the hem of the tablecloth in one of his hands. He realized Helen's plan now: in retaliation for his pause earlier, she teased him to nearly the edge of his patience, and just when he thought he would start thrusting into her hand again so he could finally find release, she slowed her pace to a languid crawl and Sebastian's nostrils flared as he fought to keep still.

Isabella knew this look all too well, and when she met his gaze and winked before innocently asking Varric about the colors of Helen's loving eyes, Sebastian stared daggers into her. _He just. Wanted. Them. Gone_. His goblet empty and the wine gone, he could feel the last strands of his self-control begin to fray.

Twenty steps to the door to lock it. Twenty to go back and grab Helen and hoist her over his shoulder. Ten steps to the impossibly long flight of stairs, five to the bedroom door. Ten steps to the bed. He could do it in a minute. _Tradition and propriety be damned to the Void_ he should have claimed her earlier, then he wouldn't be boiling and burning over the years of waiting while trying to sit calmly at his table and curse his friends for their unknown crime of staying to enjoy their wedding.

Varric's narrative drew to teasing now, and Sebastian suspected he knew Helen's intentions to torture him. "But the Rivaini would not hear of it, oh, no. She tossed her raven black hair back and stood up for the Champion's lust, and-"

"I think we've heard quite _enough_, Varric." Helen was tracing slow but firm circles around his engorged head, and Sebastian firmly planted his hands palms down on the table, arms wide and eyes closed, and trying hard to keep a steady breath.

Aveline and Donnic scrambled to their feet and hastily excused themselves.

"But I was just getting to the best part, ser. Surely you wouldn't want the story to end _prematurely_."

"You tell a magnificent story, Varric," his nostrils were flared and he strained to keep the last of his manners in tact, ignoring the huge grin on the faces of his fellow rogues as they watched him. "But we all know how it ends, don't we?"

Fenris quietly suggested that Bodahn, Sandal and Orana help him with clearing the last of the empty bottles from the table and bid the couple goodnight with a silent nod.

"But your lady requested it of me, I would have her _satisfied_."

"Good_night_, Ser Tethras." Sebastian bared his gritted teeth and glared at him.

Isabella's chuckle died. "Merrill, darling. Let's see you home, hm?" She tugged at Varric's coattail. "And you can finally return that ball of twine to its rightful owner."

The groom did not get up to lock the door behind them, but turned slowly to his bride, who had the smirk of a cat that ate the pigeon.

"You insufferable woman. I should take you right here on the table."

"That's such a terrible thing to say to your wife, husband, and in complete hypocrisy of your earlier actions." She squeezed to punctuate her contempt.

"Aye, and I've paid for that."

"Your penance has barely begun, Vael."

"I beg to differ, _Hawke_" he grunted as he crushed his lips against hers, yanking her hand away from his cock and pulling her to him as he rose. "Vex me further, wife, and I'll have you beg instead."

Helen raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" But before she could reach for him again through his tented kilt Sebastian bent down to scoop her up in his arms and made swift work of the stairs.

"You are my love forever, wife," he kissed her as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. "But you will be the death of my patience."

Helen's feet barely touched the ground when Sebastian reached for the short blade tucked in his sock and cut through the lacings of her bodice, ripping through the silk ribbons like water.


	4. Chapter 4

Helen breathed a large sigh of relief when she was no longer bound by the bodice laces, and somewhere in the back of Sebastian's mind he loved how the grey of her dress matched her eyes. And those eyes were watching him now, eager to see what he'd do now that they were well and truly alone. He wouldn't have to imagine her under him, on top of him, beside him - she was_ there_.

And her eyes were the last thing he saw before he closed his own to bend down and kiss her collarbone while he ground into her hips. The silk of Helen's dress in his hands was soft, but she was softer still, and Sebastian was at the very end of his patience. He wanted nothing more than to cut the rest of the dress away from her, especially when she taunted him.

She gasped and then moaned as his teeth worried at her neck, but then he could feel the low chuckle in her throat as she reached down to unhook his sporran from its chain, sending it to the floor with a soft thump against the carpet. "It's all your fault, you know. This skirt-"

"Kilt."

She shuddered at the consonants rumbling against her neck and his hot breath against her bare skin. Helen wondered how she lasted all these years without him so close. But then she had to stifle a giggle when his fingers left their vicelike grip on her hips to reach up and get tangled in the elven braids in her hair. "Lucky you're the only Starkhaven man I know if you all dress like this," she teased. "Especially on a gusty day."

"If that's what you'll do to every man in a kilt, I'll have you blindfolded." Sebastian could easily spend days running his hands through her hair, watching the silver ring on his finger dart through like a ray of light shining in blackest night. He grunted a little at the frustrating braids, but his dexterous fingers managed to pull them loose and Helen's hair started to fall down around him, tickling his nose with their softness and that deep smell of heather.

"Promise?" She was pulling at his belt now, feeling for the catch behind the elaborate buckle. She'd have to have a word with him later; the Maker's Bride was no longer allowed to have her face buried in her husband's crotch.

He smiled against her skin as he dipped his head lower to run his tongue along her low neckline. Her hair was completely undone, and he came up to devour her lips once more when he ran his hands through her black tresses. "A lifetime of discoveries, dove." When he felt Helen pull at the hem of his tunic and her touch graze lightly at the small of his back, Sebastian relished in the shiver that ran up his spine and prickled the hair at the nape of his neck. It had been too long, so many years spent pining for her, and now he wanted to enjoy every second. He stooped down to wrap his arms below her backside and lifted her up to carry her over to the bed.

Helen laced her fingers through his hair and kissed him again, lavishing his lips and tongue with the soft touch of her own before whispering in his ear. "_Tha gaol agam ort_, Sebastian."

Her consonants were soft against his ear but the surprising and loving gesture of his wife learning his language sent a new rush of blood through him. Sebastian buried his face into the crook of her neck again, breathing her in as he let her slip his waistcoat off of his shoulders and lift the tunic up and over his head. "And I love you, _mo chidre_." He kissed at her neck again, leaning in just enough to guide her to lie down on the bed.

After he pulled off his socks and boots and eased Helen's feet out of her small slippers, Sebastian stood up and made for the final buckles on his kilt before he heard Helen whimper. He looked up to see her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Do you have to?"

"I," Helen blushed a little and a gentle head shake sent tendrils of her hair around her face to hide how entranced she was at the sight of his warm browned skin against the blues and greens of his kilt. She wanted to run her mouth along the top of the fabric, certain that he would shudder with delight when she licked at the groove of his hip, and she wanted to duck under the wool and taste him.

Sebastian felt a corner of his mouth come up in a sly grin he once gave many a damsel when he discovered something about them. Here, his bride - a formidable warrior that was declared Kirkwall's champion while she was barely able to stand, exhausted after defeating the Arishok in single combat - could have the world and yet all she was asking for now was for him to leave his kilt on.

And then an idea tackled him from behind: he had promised her that he'd come with her, but not until she did. Twice.

Helen let out a small yelp as the archer grabbed her ankles and pulled her to meet him at the edge of the bed, searing her lips with a deep kiss and running his rough hands up her legs underneath her skirts. She didn't expect to feel that same warm mouth to follow, though, and she shuddered and gasped as Sebastian gently ran his tongue along the length of her labia and sighing at the taste of her. She was sharp and tangy, like a red wine that hadn't finished breathing, and he sighed at the small trembles right beneath her skin as she quivered.

His bride was fit to be tied. She grabbed fistfuls of silk in bedsheets and her dress as Sebastian delved into her folds and lavished his attentions to her clitoris while hidden from her sight. He was no doubt thriving on skills from his younger days and it took her an astounding amount of strength to lift a leg and softly caress his hip, urging him on while she fell back and whispered what she could remember of the Chant of Light to keep her from losing herself completely. She wanted to relish the feeling of him painting her sex with his lips and tongue after so many nights of dreaming him there.

She started in Threnodies 5, with her favorite verse that she always chuckled to hear Sebastian recite in the Chantry when she braved the early morning services just to try and distract him with a knowing glance and a slow lick of her lips when she finally caught his eye, and she swore he would blush every time.

"... with souls, made of dream and idea, hope and fear and endless possibilities. Then the Maker said, 'To you, my second-born, I g-grant this _gift_'-oh, _Maker_, Sebastian," she gasped amidst her whispers when she felt his strong finger dip into her slick center, this time stronger than before when they were downstairs.

She gasped again when Sebastian chuckled at her prayer against her skin, and she could feel him respond. "I've never heard such a fervent prayer before, wife. And now that I've tasted you," he curled his finger inside her in time with her short breaths, "the finest wine will never satisfy." He added another finger to pluck at her strings, and strummed at them while he continued her prayer, drawing out the letters against her sex with his tongue so that she would always remember him each night in dreams.

Sebastian couldn't finish the verse before she came. Her back arched and lifted off of the bed and for a second he wanted to pull her skirts away to watch her as she surrendered to her passion, but he remained diligent in his devotions even as Helen's strong thighs threatened to crush his broad shoulders as she sang a wordless hymn of praise unending.

He kept matching her pulse with his fingers as she descended, and only when she squirmed away from him did he finally resurface from the sea of gray silk. He found her with her face buried in her hands again, but this time she was also chuckling in a rich, low tone and glowing in a light sheen of sweat. He couldn't help but smile as he settled on the bed next to her and propped himself up on an elbow while he gently teased the neckline of her dress lower with his free hand.

Helen peeked up at him through her fingers. "You don't let up, do you?" She smiled as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair and gently dab at the sweat at his temples.

Sebastian shivered lightly at her touch and gently leaned in to press his erection into her hip. "In my heart, love, an everlasting fire," he purred into her ear as his teeth nibbled lightly at her earlobe and a calloused finger found the tender skin of an areola. He groaned at the feeling of her nipple stiffening to his touch and he had to fight for the patience to undress her before he would lose himself in the soft warmth of her breasts. "But it's some dark magic you do to parts of me." Sebastian kissed her to let her taste herself and gently but deftly helped her out of her dress, and in one swift movement he had the swathes of gray silk on the floor.

All his visions of her in those tormented solitary nights in the Chantry were nothing compared to the actual sight of his bride lying before him. Sebastian willed himself upright, kneeling on the bed to take her in from a greater height, and he lost himself, drowning in the black river of her hair strewn out on the bed behind her.

The wet heat of Helen's mouth sent a jolt up his spine and broke him from his reverie. He quickly reached for the headboard nearby to keep himself from falling over at the sensation, and the soft warmth of love in his heart quickly ran to a boil of lust as Sebastian looked down to see the flaps of his kilt parted and Helen's clever pink tongue swirling around his cock. He could not tear his eyes away from hers, but the grip of her hands as they tried to wrap around all of him and the feeling of her mouth as she very gently sucked on him was pulling at the last threads of his willpower. Sebastian could feel the strain building in his thighs as he fought to stay upright, and he tried to steady himself further by wrapping his fingers in her hair and lightly holding her head in place. If he kept the slow momentum of her head and his hips seamless, he could stay up straight.

But then she had to _moan_ against him, sending a sharp shudder up his spine, and he fought the urge to thrust sharply into her mouth and throat. "_Maker_, sweetling! Enough before you undo me now."

Sebastian closed his eyes and kept his grip on the headboard, catching his breath before he'd lose himself completely and too soon. Helen was relentless herself, reaching over and gently running her fingertips up the insides of his thighs and along his cock, testing his arousal. Sebastian opened his eyes and felt his blood stir to a boil all over again, and with one knowing look he came down to press the length of his body against hers, pinning her to the bed and gently pushing her legs apart to settle in between them.

She hadn't made any move to take off his kilt, and he wondered if the wool would chafe her delicate thighs. He'd kiss them and make it better if he did - he could not wait any longer now. Sebastian wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into his chest, and buried his face in the crook of her neck, lapping at the skin there and enjoying the soft moans she made.

The small catch in her breath as he poised himself at her wet sex followed by the long moan of "Maker, _yes_!" was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and it took all of Sebastian's willpower to keep calm as he slowly pressed into her. She was warm and smooth and tightly wrapped all around him, and the years that he spent denying himself the pleasure of loving her was overwhelming. He could feel tears slowly well up in his eyes and he tightened his arms around her, repeating his marriage vows in his bride's ear as he slid back and then forward and deeper into her.

Helen was on _fire_, relishing in Sebastian's smooth, deep strokes caressing parts of her she didn't even know existed. Her hands were everywhere - pressing into his shoulder blades, tracing the muscles in his back, grabbing and twisting his kilt in search of his ass. And his voice, so deeply accented, was brushing against her ear and sending goosebumps down her spine and reciting that which he promised her that morning. "While we both wish it," he whispered, "I give you that which is mine to give," and Helen arched her back and sang his name as she ascended again.

At the sound of her voice, Sebastian could not hold back any longer and surged forward, pressing further into her and his toes curled at the way she enveloped him like she was made for him and him alone. He buried his face into Helen's neck so he wouldn't deafen her with his shouts as he came.

They lay still for a moment, knowing that it was perfect, and she finished his vow gently against his temple.

"I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

He was on his back, soft silk sheets under him, with his eyes closed. Sebastian could feel her watch him, and he couldn't help the smile creep up the sides of his face. "What is it, wife?"

"Have I worn you out already?" The pout in her voice was endearing.

"Far from it, love. But I thought you needed the rest." He let himself get hit in the face with a soft pillow and his chuckles were muffled.

"_Years_ of waiting, Vael. And then there was that evil thing you did downstairs earlier." Helen swung a leg over him and straddled his waist, reaching behind her to unbuckle his kilt.

Sebastian saved himself from her hair tickling his legs by bending his knees and lifting his hips-and his bride-into the air long enough for her to pull the wool out from under him and toss it to the floor next to her wedding dress. He took a moment to relish in the sight of her on top of him, full breasts with pert rosy peaks and soft black curls framed by round hips. "What do you call _your_ actions, then, hm?"

Helen didn't reply, instead she worried the bottom of her lip between her teeth and reached behind her to wrap her hands around him again, almost surprised that he was already hard to the touch. He reached up with one hand to fondle a soft breast and its contrasting hard nipple, and the other hand wrapped around one of her hips to gently push her back towards his arousal. His thumb circled around the pearl hidden in her curls, and his lips parted in silent awe as Helen's head threw back in pleasure. Sebastian could stay like this all night, just watching and hearing her react to the smallest of caresses.

Sebastian pushed her back further, slipping into her sex again. He groaned at the wetness and grabbed at her hips to thrust up and into her, and he could feel himself grow even harder as he watched her take her own breasts in her hands and pinch at her nipples.

Their marriage was consummated in a tender, perfect moment, but the years of tension and desire had to be burned. This time his thrusts were strong but furiously fast, and Sebastian had to concentrate to keep his eyes open even though the sight of his wife writhing on top of him was impossible to ignore. He pressed a firm hand against her lower abdomen, pressing himself up against her from the inside and Helen's eyes were slammed shut as she was lost in the sensation.

"Open your eyes, sweetling," he managed to grit out from between his teeth, "Look at me."

And she did. Helen's eyes were a new shade of gray, almost black, and narrowed as she tried to focus, hissing in short breaths as Sebastian continued his relentless thrusts. She reached for his shoulders and pulled him up (he should remember how strong she really is) to feverishly kiss him and lock her ankles around the small of his back, aching to bring him closer and scorch her skin with the heat of his.

Sebastian could sense his release coming, and turned his head away from her with his teeth clenched, ready to suppress his roar. But then Helen's teeth were nipping at his ear, her words chasing out the sounds of their coupling.

"No, love. Let me hear all of you." And then he was done for, his vision gone save flashes of light, his head thrown back as his climactic yell resonated throughout their home, and his bride's response not far behind.

* * *

><p>Helen was curled up on her side in a tight ball, chuckling lightly to herself. Her hair would be a complete mess to detangle in the morning (or whenever they got out of bed), Bodahn and Orana would blush beet red at supper, and Isabella was completely right about the bedsheets. The room definitely smelled of them and while she relished in it now, she knew she wouldn't later, especially when the inevitable Wet Mabari smell would invade whenever Homer managed to barge in.<p>

She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, meaning to get up and open a window, but a strong bronze arm deftly circled her waist and pulled her back up against him. Helen feigned surprise as she landed back on her side and yipped, and then started to giggle as Sebastian spooned her and rained dozens of small kisses at the nape of her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her like the tartan he had pinned to her in front of the Chantry.

"You can't open the window, love," he curled in closer to her and murmured into her hair, smelling the heather still. "I'm so cold. Won't you warm me up again instead?"

Very funny, Helen thought. He's already burning up. "Insatiable man. I can't believe you thought we could do without all this."

"Mm, foolish man, I was," Sebastian purred. "Maker knows why you still agreed to marry me." He started stroking the side of her breast with his thumb. "Maybe it was just for what's in my sporran, but you know I had also taken vows of poverty." She could feel him smile against her skin in between kisses and small nips with his teeth, pebbling the hair on her skin.

Helen shifted and made to turn around and face him, but his arms around her were firm. "You're fine just where you are, sweetling." Sebastian ran a hand down her side from her shoulder to her hip and lightly grazed his fingers through her curls, sending a delicious shiver up her body, and then he gently parted her thighs and pinned one leg under his own, holding her open to his touch.

"Tell me, love, how did you sate yourself all those nights while I was a fool." She was helpless and writhing and he loved it. "Did you pleasure yourself here, in this bed?"

"Sweet Andraste, yes." Helen shut her eyes and tembled at his fingertips parting the folds of her sex and finding her clitoris.

"Just here," Sebastian whispered into her ear, his voice a low rumble. He brushed against the delicate bundle of nerves and reveled in her gasp. "Or did you dare lower?" He curled his finger into her sheath and freely let himself sigh at her wetness.

Helen had no reply, just soft moans as he stroked her.

"Did you pretend me there inside you?"

This time, she managed a mangled squeak.

Sebastian removed his hand and deftly lifted Helen's rear off the bed, settling her onto her knees. Helen had just enough clarity to turn her head so she wasn't smothered by the pillows, and she pushed her hair away from her face and moaned when she felt a very firm grasp on her backside. She wriggled her hips in anticipation when she felt his arousal near her entrance, and prayed that he'd keep talking like that.

"Answer me." His voice was low and stern, and his imperative was punctuated with an inch of his cock inside her, slicked in her wetness and the seed he spilled in her earlier. She stretched her arms out to brace herself against the headboard.

She waited to see what he'd do next, and was soon disappointed when he was stone still when she wanted him inside her _again_ and _now_.

"Every night," she whispered, and was prompty rewarded with another delicious inch compounded with his firm hand on her hip tightening, no doubt an effort to keep himself from throwing all of himself into her.

"_Minx_." Another inch, and Sebastian lightly scraped his short nails up from the small of her back to her shoulder blades, and it was torture. "And all those nights I spent myself in my hands wishing I was inside you, dreaming of you, just like this," both hands were firmly on her hips now, holding her tighter, but he was still holding back all of his strength.

Helen shut her eyes, trying hard not to cry out what she really wanted him to do, she was even a little afraid of asking it of him, this torment was strangely so _delicious_ even if she wanted _more_.

But then he took a hand away from her hip to hold himself and did something that forced a deep moan from her lips that she couldn't fight, didn't want to fight. He had his cock in his hand, moving himself around in a slow circle inside her, pushing hard against her walls and Helen almost wanted to cry from the pleasure.

His teeth were gritted now, she could hear it. "I could have had you sooner. I should have," and he pushed himself further into her, but she knew there was still more. "Instead of years of damning myself to the Void for loving you, Maker, Helen, you don't know what you did to me." Sebastian moaned and he slammed himself in to the hilt, the sharp thrust pushing against her cervix and it was just exquisite to her next to the fierce grip he had on her backside, pulling her back to meet his furious thrusts and pushing her down to grind his cock against her in his retreats.

Helen's heart hammered in her chest, she could barely hear her own moans over the sound of his skin slapping against her backside, and the heels of her palms braced against the headboard started to ache. Her eyes shut and her voice no longer her own, all that existed to her was the incredible feeling of her husband driving into her again and again, and she ascended with a long moan that was the catalyst to his own release.

Sebastian's roar was more fearsome than any battle cry and his furious pace finally relented as he came, and his grip on her was almost bruising, but Helen loved every moment of it, and sighed in relief and contentment as he slumped forward against her back, boneless and breathing in rapid, shallow gasps.

She slowly slid her knees out from under her, easing both of them down into the sheets, enjoying the puffs of air behind her shoulder as Sebastian caught his breath.

"Minx," he finally managed not long after he slipped out of her. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled the nape of her neck like he did before.

"You wouldn't have me any other way," she sighed. And, then, after a moment, "Do you . . . plan on having me again? Will I ever sleep tonight?" She chuckled.

His eyes were closed, but Helen saw the smirk on his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was already shining when Helen finally stirred awake. The long day of entertaining guests along with the ever-flowing wine already took quite a toll on her. Battles were easy - eventually one party would die, surrender or pass out, and bouts really only lasted for a few moments, but smiling and enduring blessings for a long and fruitful marriage seemed to take forever.

And then there was Sebastian Vael keeping her up until the wee small hours.

The archer was draped over the other side of the bed and on his stomach, sound asleep and snoring very lightly. Suppressing a giggle, Helen gingerly got out of bed and tiptoed across the room to the pitcher and washbasin in the far corner of the room.

She was right when she thought that her hair would be impossible to detangle, but she managed to coax out the knots with some firm but slow strokes of her brush and some water. Maybe it was time to cut off another foot before it reached the tip of her greatsword again.

The cool water was a welcome refreshment on her face and skin as she ran a washcloth down her body, and then a thought came to mind as she remembered the night before. _A fruitful marriage_, Helen mused. She should talk to him about children, although she was tempted to let it wait until Varric would ask him when he should start writing bedtime stories and watch him blush.

And then Helen noticed the parcel from Anders on her desk.

_"I, forgive me if I've overstepped, Hawke," he was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable with the number of guests at the presentation. "But I brought a few . . . things for you." A small blush started across his cheeks._

_Isabella glided over and wrapped an arm around the mage's waist, winking and licking her hips. "What Sparky's trying to say is, we've got you some things to keep his bow _strung_, as it were. Antivan, very fun." The dusky pirate ran her eyes up and down Anders' lean frame. "And some herbs in case you don't want little _bairns_ running around. All kinds of fun things, kitten. My idea, Anders helped make them happen."_

Helen sighed quietly and shook her head at the notion of the Rivaini and the Gray Warden working on such a package, and she found a few stamina draughts (Anders always had a few of these stashed in his kit, why didn't she think of a more nefarious use earlier?), scented oils that she recognized from the shelves of a shop Isabella found in Lowtown, and packets of herbs with steep times and dosages written out in Anders' handwriting.

Sebastian stirred, and she spun around at the sudden movement in her peripheral vision. She'd have to get used to the idea of someone in here other than Homer, and she wondered how Aveline did it with Donnic and Wesley before him.

But then the sight of Sebastian's bronzed skin draped in ivory sheets stirred a little desire in her again, and Helen took the smaller pack of bottles back to bed with her, setting it on the side table before she eased herself back into bed. He was turned on his side now, facing her, and Helen leaned in to marvel at the lines of muscle in his arms, and she could not resist the urge to lightly trace an eyebrow with a fingertip before running her hand through his hair. His bright blue eyes opened at her touch, but closed again as he pulled into a leisurely stretch that met her approval as his chest rippled. "You're up early, my bride."

"I half expected you to wake me up with your insistence." Helen straightened her back and watched his eyes dart to her breasts.

He smiled. "We have the rest of our lives, dove."

"That's _certainly_ not the way you approached things last night," she chuckled and let him pull her down into his arms, warm and strong.

Sebastian kissed at her temple and ran a hand through her hair. "What's that there?"

"Ah. Well, that would be a wedding present."

"Can I open it, or it something I get to take off you?" There was that grin again. _Chaste marriage indeed_.

His long arm reached out for the parcel and Helen suddenly wanted to watch him practice with his bow and without his armor. She wouldn't even want him to wear a shirt or a quiver. Maybe just the kilt and his boots.

"This is from Anders."

"And Isabella. I was almost frightened at the idea of their collaborating."

He wedged the cork off of one of the oils and took a whiff. "Lavender. Very nice." There was a devious purr in his tone that stirred something in her. "Lily of the valley, and that's," he squinted a little at a smaller vial, "That's Antivan, and I remember that color well. That could be quite fun, we'll have to thank Isabella for that."

Another glimpse into his wilder days, and Helen could almost see a glint of mischief in his cerulean eyes right before he pinned her underneath him and his lips lay claim to hers again.

Helen Hawke would happily give up everything in Thedas if it meant she could spend the rest of her days in bed with Sebastian Vael slowly kissing a path down the side of her neck. Outside, Templars were cowering over mages and darkspawn were filling every nook and cranny in the Deep Roads, but she was at the mercy of her husband's lips and mouth, now nibbling at her earlobe, and the rest of the world didn't matter.

She was cradled in his arms underneath him, relaxing in the warmth of his skin against hers. "Mm. This is nice." His pace was slow and lazy and perfect.

"I could spend a lifetime learning you, sweetling," Sebastian's voice was low and rumbling in her ear and he could feel the goosebumps race down her skin. "All this beautiful skin," he kissed at her neck again, "your lovely face," her temple, "those bewitching eyes." He nuzzled the soft skin at her chest and smiled at Helen's sigh when he ran the backs of his fingers along the sides of her breasts, a delightful contrast to the tiny gasps she made when he kissed a rosy pink nipple and ran his tongue over the hardened tip, suckling lightly. "And here . . . Maker, you're beautiful."

His slow pace was almost maddening after a while. Helen took deep breaths to keep herself still as he moved lower, painting small circles on her abdomen with his tongue and running his delightfully rough palms down her thighs. And she squeaked when he pinched her backside, lightly, squirming and backing up towards the pillows piled against the headboard, and he inched forward on his elbows. "Aha." He wanted a better view - he wanted to watch her, and she could do the same.

Sebastian was looming over her sex now, warm puffs of his breath stirring the small curls, and ran a fingertip down the slit of her folds with the lightest caress. Helen thrashed a little, grabbing handfuls of pillows and bedsheets, and he laid a strong tanned arm down across her belly, gently holding her still. "Hush, Helen. Have faith," and he repeated his feather-light strokes, watching her dampen under his touch and listening to her sigh and moan and twist. "Let me . . . let me take delight in the glorious beauty that is my wife," he kissed her there, softly and gently, "my life, my light," he watched her twitch when he lightly pressed a fingertip up against her clitoris, "my everlasting flame, _graim thu, adhraim thu_."

Those words, those consonants against her skin made Helen feel like she would catch _fire_, and she wanted to catch handfuls of his thick auburn hair and thrust herself up to his tongue, but she was almost mesmerized when he looked up and met her gaze, those blue eyes almost freezing her in place. She settled for her own tresses, and wrapped her hair around her palms and wrists in a sincere effort to stay still. Her patience was rewarded with a wondrously warm and wet lick that threw her head back into the pillows. He was _achingly_ slow, taking his time to lavish every part of her with his mouth, but she knew he'd have to come to his senses soon and it would be glorious and so she opted to curl her toes in silence instead of a nervous tapping. Sebastian's breath puffed against her folds, sending small gasps out from her throat, and it took all of Helen's self-control to keep her eyes open when she felt him sigh at the taste of her.

It felt like Sebastian lapped at her for _hours_. He took her quivering pearl between his lips and his tongue flurried against it and Helen's chest heaved in short breaths, and then he held her down and stayed perfectly still as she calmed down, and it was absolute torture, but Helen would rather be damned to the Void than make him stop.

And then he did, suddenly, and the warrior cried out in protest. For a split second, Helen wondered if anyone would look for the body of the Champion's Heart. (She knew they would.)

She opened her eyes (when did she close them? the last thing she remembered was spots of light), bolted upright and was about to squawk her disappointment, but Helen soon lost all train of thought. Sebastian was up on his knees, one hand reaching for the parcel on the nightstand, and the other wrapped around the base of his glorious arousal.

And Helen was speechless with want. His face was unreadable: a quiet, almost stern gaze as he deftly uncorked the bottle with one hand and poured a small amount onto himself, spreading the viscous substance along the veined tip and stifling a small groan at the touch. This time, when he looked up, it was Helen who had the devilish smile. He had opened the Antivan bottle, and there was a faint smell of elfroot and - _was that cinnamon_?

"Lie down, love." Sebastian ran a moistened finger across the instep of her foot, and Helen felt crinkles of frost follow in the wake of his touch that made her tingle. And then there was a small jolt, followed by a rash of warmth that widened her eyes. Only the Antivans would come up with such a wondrous thing. "Lie down." He coaxed her down onto her back and gently lifted her legs at the knees, sliding underneath them, his cock nestled against her. He lay on his side, filling his lips with the taste of the skin of her shoulder, nipping there and making her back arch and eyes close. She hummed as he traced a hand along the underside of her thigh, turning to look at him when he pressed a slicked finger gently against her _there_, testing her comfort and seeking her permission, and Helen nodded, breathing deeply and trying to relax.

Sebastian leaned forward to kiss her again, and whispered in her ear as he slowly slid his finger in up to the first knuckle, telling her how much he loved her and how fast his heart beat at the chance to dote on her and show her how much she meant to him. Helen's tension gave way to a low burn of pleasure, and after Sebastian eased in another knuckle while he slowly entered her, shivering under her and smiling at their simultaneous gasp at the sudden cold.

He promised her the world and everything else he could think of. "Above and beyond this," Sebastian reared his head back to watch her, "I will cherish and honor you through this life," Helen couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't help but moan and run her hands through her hair, through his hair as he wrapped his arm around her, her eyes clenched shut and he gritted his teeth as they shivered together at the first frozen thrust. She reached a hand down to press against her mound, stroking her clitoris, his grip around her tightened like a vice, he moaned her name as her felt her around him when the tiny current raced through them. And then he nearly cried as the oil turned warm and the fire spread, his pace quickening. "This life, Helen, wife, sweetling, this life and into the next."

Helen arched her back again, pressing herself down onto him, twisting and pushing against him, wanting more _here_ and _there_ and _everywhere_, loving how she could feel Sebastian's legs push against the sheets, aching for purchase as he desperately tried to press harder into her, to feel more of her as she heralded her release, his finger inside her pressing lightly and giving the most glorious constant pressure, her shoulders pressing back into the bed, another wordless hymn to rise against the feverish heat. Helen's eyes snapped open again when she felt him crush his lips into her cheek and came with a rush of hot fire inside her.

He sighed against her skin, both of them swathed in a light sheen of sweat and love, and they lied there, unmoving and happy for a while. The sun was high in the noon sky and the rays of light that came in through the windows kept their skin warm and Helen didn't want to move unless she absolutely had to.

"Only the _Antivans_."

"Did you like it?"

"Oh, very," she chuckled. "I can definitely see the appeal." Her sentence ended in a small pout as Sebastian lifted her legs again to move himself out from underneath. He kissed her hip before he got up and stretched, and Helen watched the muscle in his arms and back move with incredible grace and strength, and she nibbled at her bottom lip a little as she watched him bend over a little at the washbasin to soak a towel in the water. There was a small dimple right above the small of his back, on the left side, and she wanted to hold her thumb up against it.

Sebastian stopped to pick up the sporran from their discarded clothes on the floor on the way back to the bed, and perched himself on the edge of the mattress. Helen scooted over to him, lazily running her fingers down his arm. He took out the _luckenbooth_ from the leather purse, and turned it in his hands.

"You told me about this earlier, but I was a bit distracted with getting married to this incredible rake."

He made a face that was partly a grimace and a smile, and looked back down to the silver charm. "In Starkhaven we give these as tokens of love and protection," he said quietly, "In betrothals, weddings, and bassinets." He looked up at her then, and his blue eyes set the hair at the nape of Helen's neck straight up.

"Sebastian, I-" Helen started talking, but then realized that she didn't quite know what to say, and so she closed her mouth and let him continue.

He looked back down to the silver piece, his fingers tracing the entwined hearts and the crest of crossed arrows in between them. "The last time I saw this before today was on my nephew's blanket. And it was the last time I saw him alive." He swallowed before continuing. "Helen, I've . . . bought those teas before, and I know what they're for. And I know why Isabela and Anders gave them." A beat. "And I understand why." Helen could feel her heart begin to pound. "Nothing would bring me more joy than to raise a family with you, Helen," Sebastian looked up at her, and reached for her hand, kissing her palm and then her wrist. "But it's getting so dangerous out there. Nothing we can't handle, but I'd rather we waited." His eyes darted to the parcel and then back to his bride's gray eyes.

The Champion looked away to collect her thoughts. In her mind's eye she saw toddlers with thick black hair and blue eyes with their small arms locked around Sebastian's neck, crawling up his back and laughing, and then she saw them running and stumbling through alleys in Darktown, and it was a terrifying thought. "You're right. One day. Not now." Sebastian pulled her closer and kissed her, and Helen chuckled against his lips. "But we can still practice, can't we?"

"Regular and dedicated practice, love," he purred, his lips moved to her cheek, and then he kissed along her jaw, and started another trail down her neck. "Lots of practice. Daily."

Helen smiled and let him ease her down into the pillows. "Now, about what you did with your finger, husband."


End file.
